


Legacy of M

by Storm0fCrows



Category: Avengers (Comics), Magneto (Comics), Marvel 616, Parahumans Series - Wildbow, X-Men (Comicverse), Young Avengers (Comics)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm0fCrows/pseuds/Storm0fCrows
Summary: Magneto is dead. The sanctuary he built destroyed, his hope for a better world shattered his kingdom burnt to ashes. Taylor Hebert knows none of this, the world she is on is not her own… but nature abhors a vacuum and the King is Dead. Long live the Queen.Pre House Of M. Post GM. New Power Taylor.





	1. ReGenesis

 

-X-

 

ReGenesis 1.1

 

'I deserve peace.'

 

That thought anchored me to what remained of myself as I fell through the infinite gap between Earths. I don't remember peace… I can recall small victories before continuing on to the next battle. My memories were an unending loop of battle, betrayal, and blood. Lung, Bakuda, Jack, Coil, Echidna, Shadow Stalker, Alexandria, Tagg, Armsmaster, Dragon, Eidolon. Saint, Teacher, … Contessa. Conflict came easy; plans and strategies came to me, as smoothly as walking but after years of it part of me just wanted a moment to put down my weapon and stop fighting the monsters that sprung up from the woodwork.

 

But even with nothing else to do besides fall peace didn't find because I wasn't sure what if what was left of me could be considered Taylor Hebert. I definitely wasn't the scared girl facing off against a literal dragon to save some children, nor was I the guardian warlord of a city on the brink of collapse. I wasn't like the killer of would be tyrants or the slayer of Alexandria. I didn't feel like the heroic Weaver or villainous Skitter… or that thing I became to save the world.

 

Those personas felt like shells that needed to be discarded to become the woman that I was now… 'But who is that?' Mom had this movie she loved to watch, one of the few she would actively compare to literary classics, about a cyborg. There was a bunch of stuff that didn't really make much sense to me, either due to the age I watched it or because it had been years since I laid eyes on the tape, but those final words of the film felt exceedingly relevant as I descended into what could only be my death.

 

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child. I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things."

 

Those words of rebirth stayed with me and in a sense, they somehow defined what I was at that very moment just another shell that would eventually be cast off when it becomes too constricting.

 

…Like a beetle.

 

Khepri

 

I would have shuddered if I weren't so tired of everything. Contessa's final gift to me was a name for the creature, no, the weapon that she and the singer designed. The identities of people I knew for years, friends, were stripped to powers and how useful they would be in starting, prolonging, and ending conflict. All that remained of my life were enemies and those that she had caused pain… potential threats.

 

But they didn't matter anymore because I was falling and they were either dead or they couldn't reach me as I fell through the gap.

 

There are only so many ways that I could describe falling. There was that horrible weightlessness that hits you when you miss a step, the endless fear of eventually hitting the ground, and the acceptance that came with it. When I awoke in the absolute darkness, I was already falling but there was less of me then that there would be later… that is to say that I wasn't completely aware of the world around me. Drifting in and out of focus without an accurate way to measure time really skews with perception but then again so does exhaustion.

 

'I really deserve peace.'

 

-X-

 

_There was once a small caravan of Rom that had settled in the outskirts of a small town in Nova Pazar. The caravan had four Vardo, wagons that the Romani habituated as the moved through the countryside and each carried a family. The Vardo were usually colorful and well taken care of but this caravan had fallen onto harder times. The colors were dim, the etchings were worn, and there was no music around the communal fire. They had lost a number of the familia on that day and not all to the violent Carpathians that accused one of the Roma as a witch._

 

_The town was in ruins; corpses littered the street, torn to pieces by pieces of metal._

 

_Some of those had been women and children taken from the caravan._

 

_There was a girl who suffered more than most. She was a small thing, far too tall and far too thin for her age with long flowing raven hair. Her eyes were a dull jade and were hidden behind a pair of glasses with lenses too large for its frame. She looked miserable. She had lost her бака to the villager intent on burning her mother at the stake. The burned her while they beat her deda into a sleep he would not awaken from. The girl's mother and uncle had disappeared, as their bodies were not amongst the dead of the ruined town. There was little doubt that they had survived the massacre, after all, they were special._

 

_But little Tayler was not. She was cold and alone in a land that hated her for the life she was born into without a grandmother to sing her stories, a grandfather to scare the scary monsters back into the night, an uncle that brought her food when the camp ran out, or a mother to clam her dream and sing her to sleep._

 

_This was a hard day…_

 

_There would be many more like this to come._

 

-X-

 

When I next awoke I was no longer falling but my heart was beating as quick as lightning and as loud as thunder but even

 

In fact, I was resting on a firm, but not necessarily uncomfortable, four post bed. The room was dark but there were a few stray rays of light seeped in through the gaps between the curtains of the room's singular round window hanging. For a split second, I thought I was back in the old house and that everything that happened after that cold January day, when Skitter was born, was simply just a dream. That dad would be knocking on my door to tell me it was time to descend into back into hell… and I would have welcomed it.

 

"What was that?" I asked myself through heavy breaths. No matter how much of me was lost I knew that that vision wasn't part of my memories but it wasn't a hallucination.

 

But reality was often disappointing and that made me feel like…

 

…Every time Sophia tripped me on the stairs and the teachers gave me pitying looks…

 

…Every time Emma ruined a piece of mom's memory and I had to walk back to an empty house…

 

… Every time the Police claimed they were getting close to an arrest while I heard them snicker about what had happened to me…

 

…When you're standing in the surf, and you can feel the tide scouring the sand from under your feet and you imagine the moment when all the earth will be gone, and you will fall.

 

'Sigh.'

 

God, I reeked of angst.

 

The room was cluttered with trinkets that looked old enough to be antique, thick cobwebs connected each like a blanket. It would have almost been beautiful if I hadn't been so disturbed. Either every spider in the room was dead, which was quickly proven false when a harmless daddy longlegs crawled up my one remaining hand before skittering away when an involuntary spasm made it twitch, or Contessa's bullet wasn't meant to kill me as much as it was about stopping Khepri.

 

Which I could respect, hell I could accept it but didn't change the fact that she was responsible for putting me in a position where I had to choose between being Taylor and that thing. She had judged me worthy enough to spare, which meant that there was something inside of me that, despite everything that had to be done, that could still do some good.

 

Still, I held no delusions.

 

If I ever saw her again I would undoubtedly try to kill her.

 

_"But she's not here now, my dear."_ A woman's voice whispered right above my ear. The best way to describe it would have been posh and there was an echo that gave it an ethereal almost ethereal quality to it. Flicking the arachnid of my one remaining wrist I turned to face the owner of the voice only to be greeted more antiques. Sliding off the bed I tried to move to the door but stopped when the voice spoke again.

 

_"I must commend your instincts, young one."_ The voice chuckled from behind me. This time I turned far too quickly to keep my balance, tumbling into a large urn that was thankfully being supported by an even larger dresser. " _You, unlike most, seem to have the good sense to retreat when dealing with beings far beyond your capabilities of handling… though your lack of grace could very well lead to your doom."_

 

I bit my lip while trying to regain my footing. That last bit was definitely meant as an insult but for the life of me, I couldn't make myself rise to her provocation. There was something within me that was numbing my emotional responses to the point where my mind was actively trying to find a logical reason for the mysterious floating voice and trying to discern the most efficient method of killing it.

 

The first theory was that I was interacting with a stranger but that theory was quickly discarded because there were no strangers stupid enough to reveal themselves while trapped a confined space without holding a knife to my neck.

 

As Skitter, as Weaver, and as Khepri I had at least earned that precaution.

 

The next theory came in the form of a Master power, like mine or perhaps like Crusader's, but there was nothing there when I slipped off the bed and nothing there when I stumbled into the vase. A Tinker with a microphone made the most sense but the amount of usable scrap in this room either meant that I was wrong or there was someone with enough funds to feed their Tinker cravings and maintain their dusty collection of artifacts. Whichever way it was I was certain that I was fucked. My knife wouldn't do anything to a projection and a Tinker would have precautions if I acted out… my knife… that I had left on the bed.

 

And that was when things truly became strange.

 

The knife, as I called the busted up Scion killer, slid off the bed with startling speed, zoomed through the short distance between the mattress and I… and floated into my hand my left hand.

 

Correction: my one remaining hand.

 

_"Perhaps I spoke too soon…"_ The voice murmured. There was a pause in which nothing happened followed by a shimmer that eventually formed into a humanoid figure that at moments resembled an old woman with Victorian-like way of dress and a flapper with a bob cut. There was an expression of sadness on her face in either form. Her body language was non-hostile and instead was presented in a way that made her seem open but I couldn't very well drop my guard, so the knife stayed in place. _"Child, it will do you well to remember that there are things that a simple knife can kill."_

 

"I killed a god with this knife." My voice came out in a with a slight accent that I could not recognize, my tongue felt heavy as if it were speaking a language that it had never used before. My teeth felt strange too… what happened to me? "Who are you? What did you do to me?" It came out like a demand despite the rising fear that was cutting through my numbness.

 

_"Agatha Harkness and I have done nothing."_ The projection of the raised a thin eyebrow and shot me look that said that she was not impressed. " _What Earth did Wanda pull you from?"_ The old crone shook her head as if dispelling the question. _"It matters little. What happened to you is as much a godsend as it is a tragedy, my dear. You fell through the veil between realities, stumbling onto a place few visit and even fewer return from."_

 

It is strange not being able to push my emotions out of my head. At the time when I was stressed or facing situations where I needed to be focused if there was a to be any hope for survival, the swarm had always taken the brunt of it. Keeping me cool and calm but now… without my connection to my passenger, I couldn't stop myself from shaking.

 

"What happened to me?" My voice trembled when I asked.

 

Her features softened slightly but they still held the same regal severity as before. " _Had you fallen on any other day Wanda would have pulled you from the gap with ease, taken you to the Avengers' mansion, and would have had the best doctors watching your recovery but you fell on a day unlike any other."_ She stopped talking flickering between her aristocratic and flapper forms while she looked for the right words to explain what had happened to me.

 

Finally, she closed her eyes and began to speak. " _You must understand that Wanda didn't mean to cause you any harm and that even she is not aware of her actions."_ The woman looked sickened by the excuses she forced herself to tell but I could tell that it wasn't towards the woman she had mentioned and focused on herself. " _There was a massacre earlier this where month sixteen million souls were murdered by man-made machines hoping to cleanse the world of people, whom due to no fault of their own, developed special abilities. These people are known as mutants by the populace and they are hated for simply being."_

 

"What killed them?"

 

" _Sentinels_ " With her declaration came pictures of colossal automata that looked like something straight out if an old comic book. They vaguely resembled humans but their features could be deemed cartoonish. _"These machines with the sole purpose of slaughtering mutants._ " Agatha continued without missing a beat and with a wave of her transparent hand, the lumbering machines were replaced by the image a striking man that carried himself like what heroes were supposed to be back home. There were wrinkles on his face but that only seemed to add to the regalness of his complexion. He wore a form-fitting suit that hugged his large muscles and a long billowing cape hung from his shoulder _"Amongst them was a man who called himself Magneto. He fancied himself the messiah of mutant kind and would do anything in his incredible power to ensure his people's survival. Magneto was a survivor until today. He was a cruel old man set in his ways but he was Wanda's father and a part of her broke with the news of his death."_

 

"What does Magneto have to do with me?" The longer she spoke the greater the sense of foreboding became. Despite my lack of information I couldn't help but draw parallels between this man and Contessa. Both fought for the survival of their people, and I didn't doubt that Magneto would commit the same atrocities that Contessa and her Cauldron committed if given half the chance.

 

_"Everything. Like Magneto, Wanda's life has been marred by tragedy. When she was young Wanda lost her people due to the intolerances of the small-minded men. Her adoptive father was beaten into a coma her adoptive mother was burnt alive, and her clan was forced to break apart. When she was a grown woman she fought horrors that would have you quaking with your little dagger but she knew love and she learned loss and like Magneto she endured and like Magneto she began to splinter under the weight despite the best efforts of those around her. Magneto's death was a catalyst and you were caught in the crossfire of a poor girl's wish. The consequences of which…"_ She stopped as if to take a breath. " _It would be best if you saw for yourself."_

 

With a wave of her hand, the door behind me swung open to reveal a dark corridor. _"There is a washroom at the end of the hall."_

 

What does it say about my life that I believed her? Despite every betrayal and every broken promise, I believed the projection. There wasn't a reason for her to lie, she had every advantage, and some small part of me couldn't believe that Contessa would be so petty that she would take out my agent just to have me killed by someone else… but then again that was her modus operandi for people she couldn't see with her power.

 

Or maybe I was just tired.

 

There was a truth to everything that the projection had said but there was a caution in her voice that reminded me of a nameless friend trying to brace me for something terrible. Resigned to my fate, I staggered down the narrow hallway. There was an unnatural coldness to the short stretch between rooms. The air was stagnant and the darkness was so thick that I could barely see my two feet beneath me. To be completely honest I was half expecting some buzz saw to pop out of the wall and take my head but I knew there wasn't.

 

As my numbness faded my awareness expanded like a bubble until I could feel the pipes in the walls, the nails in the nearby supports, and the knife in my hand… a whole new world of senses were slowly awakening yet I couldn't focus on them with the looming fear at what this 'Wanda' had done to me.

 

The bathroom was sparsely decorated with bland white tiles on the floor and peeling yellow wallpaper. I saw a few roaches scattered about which was rather disorienting when I couldn't connect with them. There was a time when their feedback would have been gibberish but that had been before I dawned the cowl. I had grown to depend on their senses. It was somehow worse than losing me… at least my brain tricked itself into believing that it was still attached.

 

When I managed to pull my eyes away from the bugs loitering around the bathroom and confront my reflection I was… I don't really know how I was. My mind was suddenly flung into a maelstrom of emotion from which there was no escape. There was horror, of course, but there was also relief; joy but sadness; elation and despair. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as unfamiliar green eyes stared back at me.

 

I was pretty, some would even say beautiful, and I looked enough like me that I could recognize myself but those parts were left to me by my dad. My eyes were a dark green before but now they appeared to be an almost sparkling jade and now had a more of an almond quality to them. My mouth was wide but proportionate to my face. My skin was blemishless and fair, every scar My hair was mostly the same… a bit worse for wear but I could still convince myself that it was still my mother's hair.

 

That lone feature was all that remained of my mother and I couldn't even be sure that it belonged to her.

 

It wasn't a complete surprise when I heard the knife clatter on the floor nor when the room began to spin and my vision became blurry. My heart was beating loudly and I could feel the blood rush to my head. Nausea and dizziness brought me to my knees. It wasn't long before I vomited up bile but by then I had regained enough strength to lean against the toilet.

 

"Why?" I asked the stone-faced projection with a croak. Despite the simplicity of the question, it was loaded.

 

_'Why am I here?'_

 

_'Why did you change me?'_

 

_'Why can't I remember my mother's face anymore?'_

 

_'Why me?'_

 

_'Why couldn't you let me die?'_

 

"' _Sacrifices were made for Wanda's betterment. When she lost her sons to a demon and the foundations of her mind were about to give I wiped her memories of ever having conceived them."_ Her words were slow, as if trying to explain things to a child, and felt almost condescending because of how she delivered them. _"When her witchcraft began to change the world around her I fabricated a lie so that those people she called friends did not come to fear her. Yet through it, all her desire for a family was stronger than any mind magic that could conjure and despite my best efforts she finally snapped."_ The projections façade broke into a look of regret for an instant before returning to the cold and seemingly uncaring mask she preferred to wear. _"Seeing that history would repeat itself I intervened, I had felt a disturbance in the Witch's Road and guided Wanda, in all her madness, towards its source. I had hoped for a battle that would drain her long enough for insanity to pass yet there were no monsters threating our source of power, no greedy warlocks, or interdimensional conquerors… just a broken girl in a suit and a knife."_

 

If it had been anyone else who threw me into oblivion I would have chalked it up to bad luck but with Contessa everything was done by design. There was a reason for everything she did… she wanted me to abandon everything I was and become something new. This Wanda seemed an apt instrument for Contessa's plans.

 

She knew this would happen but that didn't answer me why.

 

"In a moment of lucidity she wanted to carry you back to her friends but all that changed when she laid a hand on you and heard you whimper. Lucidity gave way to obsession. With her magic, she changed your blood to include her and by extension her father. Your past was altered to fit this reality and you became the daughter she and her brother forgot about when they were taken by their father. Despite this, there were things she could not alter despite being in the nexus of all witchcraft. There is something Cosmic within you that she shut down but could not expel…"

 

She continued to drone but I couldn't honestly say that I was listening or even pretending to do so… yet there I stayed. Muffled sobs were drowned out by the projection's voice.

 

-X-

 

_Her grandfather had gone mad._

 

_When he awoke he didn't see little Tayler or grandmother. Django would speak as if she weren't there. He would talk to the neighbors and with those outsiders. He harped about the death of his wife and granddaughter to any unfortunate soul that would listen. They would call him a drunk when little Tayler would eventually show up and drag him away before the local guard arrested him for selling his wares. Django no longer sang near the fire or dance at few feasts. All he did was play with his puppets and mumble about aunt Ana and uncle Mateo, both died years before her mama had given birth to the youngest Maximoff._

 

_Her grandmother had been burned with their old Vardo yet she survived. Her skin was reddish and every other motion made her groan in pain. With every night that passed that her mama and her uncle Pietro didn't return little Tayler watched her grandmother's heartbreak. Without Django to support them life was hard but not as hard as it could have been. Tayler was forced to grow too young much to her grandmother's regret but as the years passed it became a necessity. They could never stay in one place for long because Drobnjak, a local priest would travel to whatever town they were visiting and incite problems with the townsfolk. When that happened they tended to go north towards Latveria to seek shelter amongst a friendly clan of Rom. One day her grandfather did not return to their new wagon. It happened in a bleak midwinter night; he disappeared to the cursed mountain Wundagor, never to be heard from again._

 

_That same year something wonderful occurred. Her mama and uncle Pietro were alive and they were heroes! Her mama was the Scarlet Witch and her Uncle was Quicksilver. They lived in a mansion in America! They fought alongside a plethora of heroes and Tayler collected every newspaper clipping she could get her hands on. Those early days of their heroics had inspired dreams that one day her mama would descend from the heavens and hug her but just before she could wrap her in a warm embrace uncle Pietro would scoop her away like he used to._

 

_Needless to say, they never came yet Tayler didn't stop calling Wanda mama until she found a picture of the Scarlet Witch with her husband and their children years after first hearing her mother's heroic exploits. Despite her grandmother's comforting words the feeling that she had been replaced… that her mother had never bothered to look for her because she wanted a life without the mistake that she represented grew exponentially. She began to make plans to face her mother but she grew sick soon after. They called it the Legacy Virus and it awoke her family's own legacy that she had been ignorant of._

 

_She survived the illness and recuperated just in time to see Magneto declaring war on the world. Many heroes that decried him but there was only one she listened to. Captain America said the Avengers would not strike against Magneto before the ruler actually attacked despite his strong feelings on the man he called a tyrant._

 

_Yet Tayler knew that this could be her last chance to confront the woman that gave birth to her. So she left like her grandfather before her, without a word or a note._

 

_A new world greeted her._

 

-X-

 

A/N: Hello and welcome to Legacy of M! Now I know that there are a few of you that are caught up with Marvel and know about the latest retcon that Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch aren't actually related to Magneto, so logically there is no way that Taylor would inherit Magneto's mutation. The answer to this is rather simple really. Wanda's reality warping powers shape the world, as she subconsciously believes it to be true or how she wants it to be. Thus when she 'creates' Tayler.

 

Now I know that Wanda and Pietro don't have a good relationship with Magneto but they would miss him if he were to die. In 2001 Grant Morrison's run of X-Men destroyed the island nation of Genosha but there wasn't much of a reaction from the rest of the heroes that I could find. So I decided to play a bit with Scarlet Witch's descent into madness which leads into Avengers: Disassembled and starts House of M.

 

Sorry that most of this chapter was mostly exposition but it is necessary for the next bit Taylor doesn't know anything about the new world around her and barely grasps what happening to her.

 

please leave a comment!

 

thank you!


	2. ReGenesis 1.2

ReGenesis 1.2

 

-X-

 

Hours passed as I rested on the filthy tiles, yet the projection that called herself Agatha still lingered. I sat there motionlessly, but that didn’t mean that I was idle. It wasn’t hard to deduce what my new power was after hearing the projection claim that they were based off a guy that called himself Magneto. I could feel metal, and I can apparently call it towards me, and maybe I can push it away, but I didn’t have the strength to.

 

I was weary, and because of that, I could barely lift the knife with either my hand or this new power of mine. How long had it been since I had eaten or drank a glass of water? How much time had passed since Scion was stopped and I was betrayed?

 

…

 

Was I betrayed, or was I the betrayer?

 

My memories weren’t clear. It was all just so muddled together that I couldn’t sift through the gunk.

 

It was a struggle to get off my feet. I swayed a few times, but by shifting my weight, I managed to counter long enough to support myself against the wall. Exiting the bathroom was another odyssey in itself. My legs had fallen asleep, so I was walking on pins and needles with every step I took. Agatha followed hovered over my shoulder, giving me a look that reminded me of a nameless crone behind a large wooden desk back on my Earth.

 

If I ever assumed that the structure I was in was a house, I would blame it on temporary delirium. It was a mansion divided into at least four wings. Naturally, I moved to the room with the most metal within it and where the most pipes led.

 

 _“You won’t find any food in the kitchens.”_ The projection warned. A cold chill ran over me as the projection passed over me and made to black me. “ _What you will find there you are not prepared for.”_

Again, I knew she was telling the truth, but my body shambled on. Judging by the state of the house around me whatever the owner of this mansion whatever they had that wasn’t canned would be spoiled, and there were no cans to speak of in the entirety of the estate. The corridors were dark, took senselessly sharp turns, and had unexpected slants that made traversing the mansion hazardous for my tired legs. I slipped a handful times but mostly managed to catch myself before I got the point where I wouldn’t be getting back up.  

 

After the long walk, I found my self in the kitchen face to face with a charred corpse sitting next to the stove. I think it spoke volumes of my past experience that I didn’t react to it. There were enough dead in my past to fill a mass grave… this one didn’t even scratch the top ten most horrible things I had seen in the past week. Well, I think it’s been a week. For the time being, I’ll chuck it up as one of the many issues that came with interdimensional travel. Side effects may include but not limited to nausea, dizziness, memory loss, muscle atrophy, a small chance that some crazy witch will play god. Good thing that the body didn’t stink.

 

I felt what I was looking before I had even stepped out of the bathroom. It was indeed fortunate that the steel teakettle was next to an extraordinary collection of dried leaves; at least half of them were used for tea. The other half included labels like Belladonna, Wolfsbane, and Deadly Nightshade, all written in neat cursive on yellowing paper.

 

I reached out for the teakettle, with my right hand, while shooting the dried up corpse a cautionary glance. There was something off about. There weren’t any signs of decomposition, no smell, no rot, and no bugs.

 

It worried me.

 

… but not as much as the fucking teakettle’s handle that I was somehow missing! My glare and promises of impending my wrath died as I watched my useless stump wave about as if my hand was still attached. Agatha didn’t snicker or smirk her eyes; instead, she looked at me as weary cat eyeing a potentially dangerous prey.

 

Twelve minutes later, half of which was spent looking for matches to ignite the antique gas stove, I was sipping a cup of a bitter, black liquid while staring at the scowling projection. Agatha wasn’t at the forefront of my mind despite practically glaring at her. There was a whole new world beyond these adorned walls. They didn’t know Skitter, Weaver, or Khepri. There were no biases against me, but there were dangers to being an unknown. Reputation was a deterrent, puffing my chest and looking menacing acquired extra weight when the opponent knew that I could amass and control a biblical swarm of arthropods.

 

On this world… they couldn’t even spell my name right.

 

But too much strength brought challengers out of the shadows and with them came conflict. Life was a balancing act, and history proved that I sucked at it.

 

First, I needed information about this world. Earth Bet had rules to preserve cape lives, but the fact that some Tinker had created robots made specifically for genocide didn’t fill me with confidence that this Earth had similar values. There probably weren’t any Endbringers to unite the populace or a PR machine to make a new generation of potential heroes be loved. I needed the big names and how to avoid them best. When I had all that then I could start thinking about getting back to the Bay.

 

…

 

…

 

‘ _Shit_.’

 

There was no going back to the Bay, was there? Who can say that there isn’t a Taylor Hebert living her life peacefully along with her Mother and Father? What would I say? What trouble would I bring to that innocent girl’s door? Biologically, I wasn’t the same Taylor. I would be Danny Hebert’s bastard daughter! Evidence that he had cheated on mom. I would ruin their lives for a moment of comfort.

 

The cup in my hand shook at the realization, but still, I continued to drink and gather myself.

 

Where would I go where ‘Wanda’ couldn’t find me?

 

“Are we in the United States?” I asked the projection, and once again, my new accent caught me by surprise. My words are clumsy but not enough to impair my ability to converse.  

 

“ _Yes.”_ She confirmed with unnecessary finality. I waited for her to expand, but the old crone simply floated in place and stared _. “But how will knowing where you are help you, my dear? Wanda may have created an identity for you in this world, but that doesn’t mean that you have resources to your name. You will find moving around to be quite tricky when you lack currency or reputation.”_

 

“Where?” I asked once again but more forcefully.

 

 _“Whisper Hill, New York.”_ Good news: I was in New York, relatively close to New England. Bad news: I didn’t have the slightest clue where Whisper Hill was or how to get to more familiar ground. A map would be an invaluable resource, but that could wait until I had somewhere to go and how to get there.

 

New York wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Boston was what? Five, maybe six, hours away by train? How much would a ticket cost? Would Wanda expect me to travel back to the place I felt safest? Logic made me want to go back to the Bay despite my worries that I would ruin my possible alternates life, but logic is predictable… which made it

 

If I wanted to get away, I needed to think outside the box.

 

“ _You are not the same person you were before Wanda dragged you into your new reality.”_ Agatha interrupted my thoughts with casual ease. _“Chances are that you were never meant to be born onto this Earth, and the place that was once home will never be home again.”_ Her nearly glassy eyes were locked onto mine, making me feel the sheer intensity of her gaze. “ _If you try to live in the past, all you will find is suffering.“_

_‘Home is behind, the world ahead, my Little Owl.’_ A wisp of memory sang in my mother’s voice. Tolkien was one of mom’s favorites. She loved the complexity of the story and the beautiful message that it carried. I hadn’t appreciated it back then, not as I should have, but I guess that’s what makes the words hold more value now than they once did. “What do you suggest I do then?”

 

 _“There isn’t a place on this Earth where Wanda will not find you.”_ As she spoke, the projection’s image flickered and changed. Color slowly spread throughout her form until she became flesh and blood. The expression on her face gradually shifted from mild discomfort to annoyance. A quick sidelong glance at where the dried corpse once stood revealed that it was no longer there and the projection was now wholly human. Agatha’s scowl deepened, but with a shake of her head, she continued. “She is the Nexus Being of this reality, she keeps this universe stable, and you are now paramount to her own stability. If I had the power, I would keep you locked away before the forces of Darkness caught the scent of your existence, but I do not. As such, my suggestion is for you to go to the densest, most populated city and fade into the crowd, at least then you’ll make her search difficult.”

 

Was it a time limit that made Agatha become corporal, or was she trapped in a time loop? Because that corpse was real enough that it had fooled me. Powers were bullshit, but there was a certain practicality to them. What was the point of becoming a ghost that couldn’t interact with the rest of the world if she couldn’t control when she came out of it-

 

It was then that whatever speculations I had about Agatha were thrown into a maelstrom with a wave of her hand. My aches and exhaustion disappeared. I felt new and better than I had in years.

 

I would like to reiterate for that powers are Bullshit! What did healing have to do with turning into a ghost! I was about to voice my question when Agatha stood up with shaky feet, looking nearly a decade older, and held up a hand literally silencing me.

 

“Go to the back the bathroom and take a shower.” Agatha pushed taking away my nearly full cup. “I will have a bag and transportation ready for when you come out.”

 

 

 

-X-

 

_Tayler was never going to be the prima ballerina, not that that she had any real desire to do so, but some benefits could not be ignored. So when she danced on the freshly polished stage surrounded by girls that shared both her talent for dance and lived in the same desperate situation, it was essential to be the best. It was easier to travel to America if the audience loved you… if the Spider loved you._

_When she left the scant protection of her caravan, many Rom had guided her towards the woman known only as the Spider. She was a smuggler and a cruel woman, but she was of the same Tribe and thus was duty bound to help the wayward souls that wandered blindly into her parlor. The Spider was old and grey but still held the majesty of a woman half her age and born into nobility. She had been beautiful once, the older girls used to say, she used to be a favorite to the former king Latveria before Doom’s revolution. The new king in his castle above Doomstadt had no patience for those that he had no use for, and thus the Rom dancer became a spymaster… or at least that what they used to whisper when the matron’s back was turned._

_The boys were made into fighters, useful to the men that would hire them once they came to America. Brutal, efficient, and willing to do whatever their masters wanted of them._

_It was not so simple for the girls. There were a plethora of jobs for pretty, talented girls that had nowhere to go. Most made Tayler’s stomach churn, which was why she gave dancing her all. The fluidity of motion came naturally. Grace was easy to mimic, but precision was a challenge that Tayler did not take well. The music and dance of her caravan were chaotic and free, but the shows that the Spider put together were too restricting. Every step was counted, and every motion consciously measured. There was no freedom under the Spider’s web but._

_Nadia Trovaya basked in the spotlight like a glass swan. What Tayler lacked she had in spades despite being at least two years younger. She was the Spiders favorite, and somehow, the girl had wormed her way into the black-haired mutant’s hardened heart. Nadia was bubbly despite the circumstances. She believed them to be friends though that was something Tayler hesitated to call the younger girl that._

_There was something seriously wrong with the girl. Nadia’s eyes didn’t light up when she smiled or laughed. Her laughter was always either too long to be comfortable or too short of having found any real humor, and it seemed more practiced instead of natural. Her moods seemed to shift between bouts of cartoonish joy and hours of calculating silence, yet neither one affected how she moved nor the mask she wore in front of the Spider._

_Still, the girl latched onto Tayler, even when the Legacy virus made her powers lash out._

_That was the only time she saw a genuine smile from Nadia and with it came the secret._

_A secret that Tayler would have preferred not knowing._

_Because there was something terrible about sympathy when you were trapped in a perilous position._

_“Have I ever told you about my parents?” Nadia whispered in English as I suffered through cold sweats. A smile tugged her lips while she ran a wet cloth over my forehead. “My parents were both scientists, but my father is a hero. He was one of the first of the Avengers and the greatest mind on the planet, but he made enemies. One night, they stole her away and I was born into a cage.They called that cage The Red Room… ”_

 

-X-

 

A/N: Hello! It been a while and I am deeply sorry for that. Between finals, getting into Law School, graduation, getting sick, recovering, and going on a celebratory trip with friends for most of June I haven’t had much time to sit down and finish this chapter. I thank you for your patience and your support.

 

  1. Into the chapter: not much here except a bit more back story for Taylor’s new past and establishing a plan for the future, namely, New York where many of our favorite heroes inhabit at this point in time.



 

Now here are some questions that I’m sure some of you are asking that don’t spoil anything:

 

Q: Why doesn’t Agatha keep Taylor in her mansion?

 

A: Because there are a handful of people who still visit her. Fantastic Four and The Scarlet Witch being the main ones. If the Fantastic Four decide to shelter her Victor Von Doom finds out about her and the Wanda is liable to kill Taylor in her mania as she has Agatha… and wouldn’t that be a can of Worms…

 

‘Wink’

 

Yes. Bad pun and I should feel bad.

 

Q: Why the hell are you including the new Wasp now? She doesn’t escape from the Red Room for years!

 

A: One: because I like her character and her back story is pretty interesting and mirrors Taylor’s new past to an extent. Two: I think Marvel missed the mark with this fascinating character. She could have been something amazing on the level of Jessica Jones (the comic book but the show is good too) but they made her too fluffy. Fingers crossed for an Unstoppable Wasp MAX. Three: The Red Room or Black Widow OPS has been shut down since before 2004 in Earth 616. We can see this in Black Widow 2004-2005 when the successor to the Red Room is trying to wipe out all the Widows and again in the 2015 run where we see a former Widow trying to establish a new Black Ops agency code name “Black Room” which means that Nadia was either created due to the Incursion ( which is… whatever) or she’s been floating about gathering her courage to approach her father.

 

Now I know that I’m trying to draw logic from a sliding timeline. But I find it impossible that this girl isn’t in the same age group as the Runaways instead of high school of Miss Marvel. Where did I get that idea? Mostly because Janet and Pym were married for **years** in universe. So Nadia would be early twenties at the point they introduced her if they wanted to use the red room angle.

 

There I defended the K-G-Bee.

 

…

 

I do apologize for that pun. A friend of mine bet me that I wouldn’t do it.

 

Well that’s it.

 

Next Time: The U-Men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. ReGenesis 1.3

ReGenesis 1-3

As I sat alone in Agatha’s old, but well kept, Ford Mercury, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. I had at least an hour to contemplate my next move in the relative peace of a self-driving car surrounded by thick woods that seemed to frame the sides of the back roads. Few cars passed me by, but mostly it was abandoned. A self-driving car was in no way commonplace back on Bet, but at least they could be explained away by the existence of Tinkers, but this machine wasn’t tinker tech. 

There were no computers or chips that could allow the machine to guide itself. The wiring was worn, nearing the point when they would need to be replaced, and simple enough that in the short time I had spent inside the classic car, my new power could trace their origin and exactly where they ended… and they led to nothing out of the ordinary.

There was an antenna, but every time the car avoided a pothole, or If I fidgeted in the hot leather seats, or I leaned a bit too close to it, my natural magnetism would interfere with whichever signal it was receiving.

_ “Her name i-zzzt- Noel _

_  I have a dream about her _

_ She rings my bell. I have a dr-zzzt-am about her.” _

The cold shower and the ride towards the city were… appreciated despite my silence, but there was little else to be appreciative of in my current situation.

Physically, biologically, I was a completely different person.

_ “I got gym class in half an hour _

_  Oh, how she rocks  _

_ In Keds and tube socks.” _

Currently, I embodied the Parahuman moniker more than anyone back on Earth Bet ever did. Instead of just having an abnormal brain structure that connected me to an extra-terrestrial parasite, my genetic code was rewritten to fit a woman that apparently suffered delusions of being my mother.

_ “But sh-zzzt- doesn’t know who I am.” _

My memories, my real memories, were, at best, a semi-linear outline of a series of tragic events that led me to become one of the most dangerous creatures in a sealed-off multiverse. There was minimal context as to why it deteriorated to that point. Why the shades that littered them were stripped to their barest functionality unless they once posed a significant threat to me. Motivations that were once unquestionable, in my mind, were now straw man arguments because I could barely connect my rational with the relevant experience.

 I hated it.

_ “And she do-zzzt-sn’t give a damn -zzzt-out me.” _

Mostly because there was less of me than there was of “ _me_.”

Like a hollow carapace

_ “‘C-zzzt-se I’m just a t-zzzzt-enage dirtbag, baby.” _

I could remember the names and faces of people that I had never met. Events that seemed to color my view of things more deeply than my actual memories were seemingly intertwined. Wanda had been young when I was supposedly ‘born”, barely older than I was when I first became Skitter. She vaguely reminded of my own mother, but this ‘me’ had been way younger than I was when ‘she’ lost her.

The term rose-tinted glasses shouldn’t apply when the memories being examined about a specific person were literally created by that person. With the people came a whole new world that kept on throwing my head into a maelstrom.

Historical events that hadn’t happened in Earth Bet were fresh in my mind. Teams like the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. replaced the Protectorate and the P.R.T., Alpha Flight replaced the Guild. The C.U.I. never formed because the People’s Republic of China never collapsed, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t an equivalent to the Yàngbǎn on this Earth. It just came in the form of the China Force… though they didn’t have the power nor the reach that the Yàngbǎn did back on Bet.

_ “Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me, ooh.” _

For New Wave, there was the Fantastic Four… or is it six? They have two children now, and there had been other members at multiple points in time… so the name doesn’t really fit. They were similar to New Wave due to their familial structure of the team, but there was an equal part focus on science and heroics… which was interesting. They were independent of the Avenger, which Wanda was a part of, and of S.H.I.E.L.D. which was good because I had no desire to meet Wanda and I did not want to pop onto S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar before I was ready to face the consequences of gaining the attention of such a dubious organization. 

If I could convince them to help either by determining the extent of my new powers or if I can persuade them to offer some level of shelter while I establish myself…

Well, it would go a long way towards creating some semblance of peace of mind, anyway. 

There were two main issues with this approach. The first is that it would put me in a situation where they could inform Wanda of my location, and they weren’t, to the best of my knowledge, very sympathetic to the mutant plight. 

Not that it particularly unique to the Fantastic Four most of the hero teams didn’t seem to care. 

They were inactive at best and indifferent at worst. 

On the other extreme were the zealous Acolytes, a group of fanatics that had tried to conquer the Mutant nation of Genosha prior to my new “Grandfather’s” reign. They were led by a man named Exodus, and they were devoted to the ideals set forth by Magneto and zealously worshiped the man himself. With him gone, they would look to his heir for guidance. Since Pietro and Wanda had fought against Magneto on multiple occasions and they had publicly made statements that flatly stated their disapproval of his tactics, character and his ideals of Mutantdom. 

I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what could occur if they discovered me. Becoming that  _thing_  while facing Scion had soured me to the idea of having absolute control over someone else. 

Outside of that, the Acolytes, like the Fallen, were villains with a penchant of kidnapping children, brainwashing them, and turning them into tools for their current leader, Exodus… now doesn’t that harken to a simpler time? Back when I was just a girl that wanted to be a hero… flinging myself against impossible odds, fighting superpowered Nazis, a mad bomber, Lung, and a snake in P.R.T. clothing.

…

A large shadow suddenly loomed over the driver’s side window pulling me out of my own. It was a repurposed ice cream truck painted bright blue with a bastardized version of the Vitruvian man with three heads, a single eye, angel wings, and a double helix coiling around the length of its body plastered on the side. 

The window was rolled down, revealing the car’s occupants.

It was a large humanoid creature with a single visor like hole on its face, and the rest was covered in thick metal armor. At first glance, I could be forgiven for thinking that I was facing some kind of machine, like a remotely piloted suit, like Dragon’s, but that was so incredibly wrong. It wasn’t a machine, but it wasn’t human, not anymore. The armor was hermetically sealed containment suit, with vents and a series of purifiers scattered about a messy design, and a large power bank fused to whatever is inside.

Like the Mercury, I could feel every wire and circuit fused to flesh and bone. Winslow taught me a decent amount of anatomy, my cape career had offered me enough opportunities to witness the carnage, and my false-self had a rudimentary understanding about herbs and how they helped heal the body which meant that I had a good grasp on how a human body is supposed to look like… and that thing sealed inside the suit had far too many organs. 

I couldn’t see what they were, and I didn’t have the slightest of clues about how they got to be there. Still, the way it leveled its weapon in my direction, a strange hybrid of a machine gun and a tesla coil, gave me a reasonable clue.  

“ _Scan complete.”_ A mechanical voiceshouted to the driver. “ _X-gene confirmed.”_

__

_ “Commence capture protocols.”  _ A more human voice commanded from the radio. It was smooth, charismatic, passionate, and sincere like a tv preacher controlling his followers. 

To their credit, they didn’t hesitate. The passenger pulled the trigger as soon as the command was given. He tried to take out the tires with bolts superheated plasma. The car swerved in response, avoiding the three shots masterfully. The craters left behind by the blast were sizeable enough that I was confident that the car wouldn’t survive a direct impact, and by extension, I wouldn’t either.

So, I did the only thing I could, I reached out with my single hand in a sloppy attempt to wrap my power around the gun, to deprive them of a method to incapacitate me, and squeezed. 

What followed was not for the faint of heart, and if I hadn’t fought the worst of the worst as a villain, as a hero, and as a monster, I would have probably been in the same boat. It was hard to describe, but all the explanations in the world could have been broken down into a short fraise: like pushing toothpaste out of the tube.

When the gun collapsed into itself like crumpled up ball of tinfoil, I couldn’t help the small smile that graced my face. 

When the arms holding the gun started to compress, and the sound of snapping carrots permeated the air, the smile fell, and an expression of shock took its place.

When the body started doing the same, pushing the biological matter through the weakest point in what was necessarily a compressed metal deep-sea dive suit, I grimaced and nearly looked away. Still, I needed to see what happened when I applied too much force. 

I had to live and learn or watch this happen again when I didn’t need it to. Nothing drew the attention of the authorities like flexing powers unnecessarily. Blood, guts, and crushed bones were pushed out of the small gap in the suit in a stream of gore and viscera.     

It was a cold way of thinking, I know, but in my situation, warm thoughts were few and far between. There was a vague hope in the back of my head that its death was quick, but it wasn’t enough to make me regret my action. If they hadn’t tried to blow a hole in my car, I wouldn’t have tried to disable the gun.  

…

“Why did I give them a chance?” I voiced my confusion. The clearest memories of Bet that I had were about conflict, I knew what to do if a gun was pointed at and it wasn’t like I lacked experience with ranged powers… but here I let him shoot before I acted. 

Was it because I was still trying to piece myself together, or was it because of something else?

There wasn’t enough data to come to a satisfactory conclusion. As much as I loathed the idea of putting myself in a similar situation, I needed to gather more data.  

The front half of the truck had collapsed into itself as if a truck of a similar size rammed into it at top speed and veered off wildly into the woodland. There was a crash, and the sound of metal twisting hit my ears with a screech as the Mercury slowed to a stop. There was a small amount of smoke coming out of the wreckage and the sound of a woman’s screams coming from the back of the refrigerated truck.

And I, ever the hero, sprinted into action. A large part of me warned me that I was illogical, that I need to approach this coldness instead of compassion. Still, there was an impulse within me that couldn’t very well ignore.

Frankly, I don’t think I could bare letting someone I could save die. 

Not after everything.

I didn’t hesitate to rip off the door with a harsh tug. The doors flew off somewhere into the wood. I didn’t’ see where they were going or where they landed and that ticked that cold part of me off significantly, but again, I ignored it. The screams grew louder as I ran up, and just like earlier, I was invited to witness another gory scene.  

There was a naked woman strapped to an operating table. Her dark skin was covered in near-frozen blood that was seeping from the upturned coolers that hung from the walls. There were organs ranging from eyeballs to bladders and everything in between scattered about the compartment in Ziploc bags with the same bastardized Vitruvian man printed on each side. All of them had a name, a mutation, and a serial number written on them with a sharpie, which pretty much explained why they were after me.

They wanted my body to either harvest or to get off on torture… I wasn’t particularly motivated to find out. 

I approached her and proceeded, then there was a pressure behind my eyes, but as soon as it hit, it was gone. The screaming woman fell limp, but just as her eyes fluttered shut, she managed a strangled whisper.

“Take me to Wannabe…” She said in a British accent. 

Despite the weakness in her voice, the imperiousness of her plea was as clear as day, but so was the desperation. Looking at her, I couldn’t stop the pang sympathy for the girl that was shoved into a locker and came out walking the path that would result in me. This was a woman grown, but I could still see part of myself in her. 

So, I acquiesced… and now at least I had a plan… though it may have been a little too bare-bones for comfort.

xXx

New York was a different beast than on Bet. Behemoth hadn’t scorched half the city, and half a dozen villainous gangs hadn’t declared war of a fledgling Protectorate. The only significant loss of life, that decimated the population and the infrastructure, happened when a creature called Carnage and his’ family’ incited riots and wiped out entire streets on an hourly basis but they had been stopped by Captain America and the infamous Spider-Man before  they’re madness could  escape Manhattan.

It had never suffered the kind of destruction that had innovated New York into the veritable City of Tomorrow. From Agatha’s Ford Mercury, I couldn’t distinguish it from any other city I’d been in.

 

Wannabes turned out to be a night club at the heart of what on my Earth was called Alphabet city but, on this Earth, they called it Mutant Town. It was pitiful, walled up, cluttered with garbage, both human and filth, and dilapidated to hell and back.

It was familiar and that was slightly comforting.

Mutant Town was like a menagerie of Case 53’s and common parahuman, but there was a startling absence of masks. The people around walking around were using their powers freely without a worry about being identified but then again… if there were grouped together in a slum-like together, it could be said that they’d already been outed.

Wannabes was easy to find. It was a stone building with no windows that seemed to just be a tad smaller than housing around them and a bright pink neon sign with Wannabe scrawled in fine cursive. Wannabes was to the Palanquin as the Docks were to the Boardwalk. Bigger, certainly, but lacking in class or a cohesive aesthetic. The décor was a cross of colorful sixties style décor, with purple drapes hanging between pillars that broke the tables into sections, and space age, the dance floor looked like it was made of glass and there were screens every which way showing muted music videos.

By the way the building was structured, metal laced with concrete in a near-perfect honeycomb formation; it would take an extreme amount of force to either brake into the building or break out.

Which doesn’t matter when I could feel all the exits in the case that things went south.

My host looked like a new woman. She had woken up half way towards the city and guided me with a few scant words and the occasional pointed a finger. Once we had entered the club, she had asked me to sit while she, presumably, to clean herself off.  A Shower later  and a  familiar  black one-piece later and she was smiling, though it didn’t  reach her eyes and they were rather predatory  

 

 “My name is Astrid Bloom, dear, and I am a telepath.” Now wasn’t that disturbing reality. Masters had a bad rep back on Bet, but none of them could really be considered to be Psychic except, of course, for the Simurgh. A great tool that sowed the seeds that I harvested to destroy Scion. Both of us were monsters, and neither one of us ever honestly had a choice. The woman that sat in front of me had made many choices, some good most bad, yet she was alive and flourishing. 

She saw success in that. 

Astrid Bloom was a beautiful woman, even when she was looking at me like a cat ready to pounce. Her figure was lithe but not skinny. Her muscles were toned, making her look like a runner. Her hair was dyed silver, and she dressed in a suit reminiscent of the X-Man Storm, according to the memories Wanda had jammed into my brain. She carried herself with confidence that allowed her to pull off the look without looking, ironically, like a Wannabe. 

She reminded me of Hess, but that wasn’t why I considered the woman I had saved a threat. Astrid had a look in her eye that screamed that she had already seven steps ahead. She wanted me here, and it certainly wasn’t because I had pulled her out of that truck. 

“Normally, I would go about showing you by either by projecting my thoughts into you or by reading your thoughts, but neither option seems to work on you, so you’ll have to take me at my word, dear.” The way she said it was with a relaxed smile, but her eyes flashed with a bit of anger that added to the truth of her words. “I would like to offer you a job.”

I stiffened slightly. I expected a thank you and maybe a meal, but a job offers while not unwelcome was wholly unexpected. 

“Why? I asked, my own voice still foreign to my own ears.

My monosyllable question seemed to spark excitement within her, and her smile widened. She probably assumed that she had me at some kind of disadvantage, most likely coming to the conclusion that I was a migrant trying to escape conscription into the Winter Force, Russia’s response to the X-Men, and that she could capitalize on it.

“That’s quite simple, darling, us mutants need to stick together,” Astrid responded cheerily and grabbing a bottle of top-shelf brandy. She must have seen the skeptical look on my face because she was quick in explaining her reasoning. “But other than that, you’re quite the rare commodity, even within our kind, you seem to be immune to telepaths, and that is invaluable. You see, the creature that you saved me from, the U-Men, have a weapon that attacks a person’s mind; it is such an overwhelming force that I doubt any natural telepath wouldn’t buckle against it.”

It was practical reasoning and depending on what I could get out of it beneficial. Astrid seeing me mull it over, sat a table, offer poured herself a glass, and poured another cup.

“There are benefits with being in my employ, darling, all you need to do is ask.”

xXx

A week later, I found myself half-naked surrounded by half a dozen mirrors, Astrid, and X-Factory’s, Mutant Town’s only premier clothing store, flamboyant founder, the artist that only responds to Jumbo Carnation.

It’s sad day when any parahuman starts missing Glenn Chambers and his ugly Hawaiian shirts but dealing with him was definitely preferable than dealing Jumbo Carnation. 

Jumbo Carnation was a portly bald man with four arms and relatively unremarkable features. He reminded me more of an egg than an actual person. His arms were long, but his legs were rather short. He dressed in a skin black rubber diamond-studded suit, with a puffy hot pink feather coat that reached his knees. He was the top mutant designer on the east coast and held an exclusivity contract with Astrid that was basically said that he would be the one supplying the employees with work clothes.

Work clothes being iconic costumes that mirrored real-life heroes, which is why the club is called Wannabes… as I later came to find out.

I had already modeled two costumes, both were purchased by Astrid, and I was currently on my third. Because of my striking resemblance to the Scarlet Witch, Jumbo had immediately set upon creating her costume but, and I quote, ‘sexier.’ 

Red unitarded, thigh-high boots, long cape, and red headpiece all designed to accentuate my curves and entice customers into the club. According to Astrid, I was only supposed to wear it when we had some big shots visiting, mostly due to the fact that I could easily be mistaken for the Avenger. It was functional, if not too revealing, so I didn’t complain too much despite my general annoyance at the situation.

The second was a green and yellow full-body rubber suit that came with a white tuff hair peace. Supposedly it was so I could play at Rogue when walking amongst the crowd. Skintight, but it did offer more protection than the other costume so at least there was that.

Jumbo Carnation wanted to stick me into a Polaris costume but thought better of it once Astrid reminded him that she had died protecting Genosha; that being said, I was immediately placed into a pair of form-fitting blue overalls. Metal shoulder pads were then cobbled together with three dandling metal arms. A chrome-colored helmet with silver-haired wig glued into was shoved atop my head.

I looked stupid, but Astrid seemed pleased. I didn’t recognize this one, so she probably hadn’t done anything noteworthy enough to put her in the news, but there was certain practicality in the ridiculousness of the design. I could roughly manipulate the metal limbs. Still, with practice, I could probably learn to use them as replacements for my missing arm.

“Spiral is a risky investment, Jumbo darling.” Astrid spoke up as she flipped through the pages of the Daily Bugle. The cover read,  **“THE MONSTER FROM MUTANT TOWN STRIKES AGAIN; PRIZED CORGI MISSING!”**  in large bold letters. “Villains may attract customers, but her reputation is more… unsavory than mots among the population.”

By population she meant mutant. Astrid Bloom quickly showed how she felt about “flat-Scans”, humans that lacked the X-gene, and it was in no way pleasant. She didn’t outwardly despise them, but they were treated like dirt beneath her high heeled boots. I made a note of finding some other kind of employment quickly.

 

“if you have girls prancing your club around in that cheap Sabertooth get up and no one has complained, they won’t complain about this masterpiece.”

“You designed it.” Astrid pointed out, placing the paper neatly on the couch, reaching for the boxy tv’s remote and switched it on. There was an old man in a blue suit seated opposite to a bald man dressed in a plain grey suit that seated on a wheelchair. From my limited view of the screen I came to the conclusion that it was some kind of talk show.

“A horrified world reacts to the mutant genocide.” The host narrated with a gravely, deep voice. Now changing stereotyped portrayals of mutants in movies.” Screen shots of films cycled in a small box in the corner. “Most mutants are decent law-abiding citizens, admit law enforcement agencies.” The images changed to people with clear physical mutations shaking hands with police officers from different uniforms. “Now with us is renowned mutant expert, Professor Charles Xavier believes, now more than ever, man and his genetic cousin must reach a new understanding in the wake of this terrible tragedy.”

 

“Charlatan.” Astrid hissed. “Because he studied mutation through textbooks, he thinks he can understand us? Mutants weren’t the ones that launched a fleet of mechanical monstrosities to wipe the _humans_ out!”

 

The camera refocused on, the now identified, Charles Xavier.

 

There weren’t any signs of nervousness on his face though he did look older than he was  as if  something had  worn heavy on the man be it sadness or guilt that was anyone’s guess . With a motion of his hands he turned away from the elderly host and faced the camera directly.

“Hello, my name is Charles Xavier, and I’ve studied humanity since I was a child.” His voice was rich, comforting and inviting. The way he carried himself showed a strength that his body didn’t. ” I have known love, I have seen war, I have seen humanity at its best and at its absolute worst but no matter the circumstances, no matter the darkness that clouds our heart there is room for compassion. With that in mind I feel it is finally time to put an end to the masks. “There was a pause where he took a calming breath but at no point did his conviction seemed to falter “An end to hiding our gifts behind ‘secret identities’ and ill-fitting clothes. Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to reintroduce myself…”

 

“There’s just no way…” Jumbo dropped the measuring tape and put his complete attention on the screen. There was a numb shock in his voice that spoke of past regrets and complete and utter surprise.

 

Astrid on the other hand was much more incensed than a moment ago, clearly coming to the same conclusion as Jumbo Carnation. “And now we know why Magneto never killed him.”    

 

“My name is Charles Xavier, also known as Professor X, and I am a mutant.”

I was confused. 

 

Clearly this was some kind of bomb that had just been dropped but the significance of it clearly went over my head. News of Charles Xavier rarely ever reached the caravan depicted in my memories, but it was always scientific jargon and a few words here and there about salvaging humanity’s relationship with Mutants but that was the extent of it.

 

What this revelation meant? I had no idea, but I could feel that this was going to change something if the reactions of my employer and the newest pain in my ass was any indication.   

xXx

A/N: Hello again! Sorry for the delay law school is insane but hope you enjoy this chapter,  
  
Okay, let’s talk about Taylor’s status: This is not a permanent status, she’s not going to be a bouncer for a small-time telepath in what used to be Alphabet City. Mutant Town is going to be her base of operations for the next few chapters and yes this will intersect with Spider-Man and a few other Street level heroes before meeting the big names.  
  
Both Astrid Bloom and Jumbo Carnation are small-time characters that appear in a few issues of X-Men before disappearing, in Astrid’s case, or being brutally murdered. I felt that they would help flesh out Mutant Town as Taylor, for lack of a better term, find herself.  
  
Astrid is a pretty interesting character and served as a black mirror to the White Queen in Emma Frost’s own comic.  
  
Please drop a comment and leave a review!  
  
EDIT: Any suggestions for Taylor's Mutant name?  
  
See you next time.

 


	4. ReGenesis 1.4

It didn’t take long to start hating Wannabes.

The club was a black hole. People from all over, Manhattan natives to California surfers, Mutants with grotesque mutations to kids way too young that they couldn’t even be juniors in high school. Those that I caught were shown the door quickly and with a reprimand that they wouldn’t soon forget. I looked like Wanda, a younger version of the famous Avenger, like I had been with Annett, my true mother. In the flashing lights with the costume and a scarlet cape to hide my missing arm, it was nearly impossible to tell us apart, and whatever threat I sent their way was enough to convince them to leave, hopefully not saying a word to their parents.

No one would believe that the Scarlet Witch spent her evenings in Mutant Town.

Astrid didn’t particularly care, I couldn’t catch them all. By the time I found one, they had already forked over a decent amount of cash, and another dozen or so had managed to sneak in. To Astrid, they were nothing more than a source of income, be they mutant or mundane. My benefactor was an amoral psychopath, but what else was new?

I hated it.

Astrid knew that I hated it, but there was a smugness in her whenever I broached the subject as if my worries were misplaced. The cops don’t go this deep into Mutant Town, preferring to stick to its edges unless there was someone that needed to be put down, and by that point, when they do finally manifest, some vigilante had more than likely dealt with the situation. There would be no raids of the club because it was _the_ hot spot, she would assure because that’s what she assumed I cared about. Her interactions with me were a far cry of her interactions with her other ‘partners.’

As such, I had taken to spending my time in Tompkins Square Park. just sitting on a bench with a metal thermos filled with black tea and a free hotdog curtesy of the overly chatty hot dog stand manager that was convinced I was Wanda… no matter how many times I told him otherwise. His name was Karl, built like a truck, his head was shaved, but he covered it up with a navy-blue Yankees cap. If he had an opinion on mutants, he kept it to himself, but the rest? That was fair game, and if given a chance, he’d talk my ear off.

He refused my money. Even when I snuck payment behind the ketchup while he stacked relish on my hotdog, or I left on the stand just as I walked away. He’d wait till I came back, and then he’d sneak it between the tin foil and the napkin. He’d shoot me a toothy yellow smile with a glint in his eyes and a barely contained laugh.

Karl was a good person.

Even when there was a protest going on just across the street, he operated his stand like a sentinel of consumables though he set up shop next to my bench on days that were particularly bad. The protests were about some creature that was supposedly eating dogs in the neighboring China Town and the fear that it was going to move onto humans soon enough. It was a problem that was boiling beneath the surface, and the people fanning the flames appeared to be purposefully ignoring the possibility of another carnivorous predator that frequented New York’s sewer system.

The Iguana.

No… that wasn’t particularly right… Komodo?

Or was it the Lizard?

People on this Earth, as a rule, had a somewhat skewed view of their parahumans. When I referred to parahumans, I didn’t mean Parahumans in the traditional sense, intelligent being hosting pieces of multi-dimensional monstrosity, but as the etymology of the word suggests humans beyond the explanation of science. Mutants weren’t the first powered humanoids to walk this Earth, that dubious honor belonged to the Inhumans, safe in their kingdom on the moon followed closely by those that wielded magic, who moved across dimensions. Between them was a long history or so it was claimed by the scant resources in the New York Public Library donated by Doctor Stephen Strange.

Mutants are a product of the twentieth century, children of the atomic bomb. Some scientist claims that in a handful of generations, mutants would become dominant species, but they weren’t the only ones to emerge in the advent of the atomic bomb. Parahumans of science, monsters in their own right like the Lizard and the Hulk, were sprouting up like weeds, but in the public consciousness, they were the same.

At the end of the day, the point was that there were a few superhuman beings in New York with a taste for living things, and most of them weren’t mutants, but no one cared enough to look. There were people like Karl that couldn’t bring himself to look too closely at the men and women that stood as paragons of heroism and wonder if they were mutants. Still, then there were people like the mob gathered at the edge of Mutant Town who just saw monsters instead of people regardless of their alignment.

The police were busy with the Fisk, local Kingpin that had taken over New York’s underworld, trial to come out in force. I didn’t want to jump in all that would do was draw more attention to me, but these people were actively looking for an excuse to burn the entire district to the ground, and if push came to shove... well… I wasn’t known for my restraint.

Slurs were being thrown genejokes, genefreaks, malformed, genescrapes, genetically challenged, etcetera, etcetera. They weren’t particularly creative, and most were born from the same vain about genetics, but the mob was particularly ravenous.

There were cries for executions.

A handful shouted vulgar demands to burn all mutants alive.

And the religious ones? They shouted about how we were a mistake and how mutants were the devil’s spawn.

And as I watched them from across the way, there was a single phrase that seemed to circle my thoughts. “God loves, Man kills.”

I hadn’t been particularly religious back on Bet, but my false self was raised in a far more religious background.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” A man in his late fifties said as he approached with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. He was wearing a cream-colored duster coat that barely hid his wrinkled, striped shirt and coffee-stained tie. There was a green and red lanyard with little bugles that hung loosely from his neck, holding a laminated press pass with a picture that was probably a decade old and his name in thick bold letters:

 

 **BEN URICH, REPORTER FOR THE DAILY BUGLE**.

 

I had read one of his columns a few days prior to our encounter. It was buried behind seven pages covering the Kingpin trial. His words were pretty and were meant to instill hope. The story was about a boy whose father had gone missing; some low life D-list burglar called Leapfrog. For all intents and purposes, it was a nice, simple fluff piece meant to reassure the public that there is still good in the world while the trial of the new millennium was being held a few blocks away, that heroes come in all shapes and sizes, and that in they could trust that even the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had a human heart.

“The mob?” I asked confusion, clearly etched into my tone.

“Nope.” He responded with an easy-going smile. It was the kind of smile that didn’t quite sit right on his wizened face like he hadn’t smiled much before and didn’t really know how to. “People do stupid things when they're in large groups, that’s a rule, not an exception,” There was a certain amount of mirth in his words that indicated that it was supposed to come off as joke, but the truth of that particular statement killed any sort of joy that could be found in his tone. “What’s crazy is that the Mutants haven’t responded in kind.”

It was true. In the weeks following my arrival, Mutant on human violence had gone down rapidly as more and more of the population began to accept the stark reality that their symbol of violent resistance had died during the attack on Genosha. Magneto was the power behind the group known as the Brotherhood, and without him, they were nothing more than a splintered group of thugs trying to punch above their weight class. Without Magneto, the only reliable protection Mutant Town had was provided by Xavier and his X-Men, and even that was scarce.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with mutants protesting, but ...” Mr. Urich tried to walk back. He perhaps thought that I would find something particularly offensive in his words. My lack of reaction made him sigh, not the relieved kind of sigh but instead a tired one. The reporter tapped his pen on the cover of his notebook twice before speaking again. “I’m sorry, kid, old dogs like me, have a harder time learning new tricks, especially after seeing as much as we have.”

It was easy to be wary, especially when a city could become a battlefield at the drop of a coin, that’s why it is so admirable to see someone trying to overcome fear. Parahumans on Bet had government support and a PR machine that could make the most heinous Capes seem like paragons of virtue given enough time and effort; mutants were at a disadvantage in that front. Charles Xavier was a great speaker, but even he was drowned out when compared to the cacophony of voices that were in opposition to his message. News pundits like Benedict Ryan sparked the flames of hatred with photos, videos, and stories, all presented in a way that made Mutants look like monsters. He appealed to reason by providing evidence; Reverend William Stryker spoke to the faith, and Senator Robert Kelly talked to the fears of the everyman.

“This is true.” I finally responded with a slight, unenthusiastic nod.

“I’m guessing by your clothes, you’re a mutant…”

I had to force myself not to sigh in absolute frustration at Jumbo Carnation’s stylistic choice. My attire was inspired by some kind of some kind of hybrid modern gothic/punk style and consisted of a scarlet high collard trench coat with a multitude of hollow pockets designed to hide slivers of metal in the case there is an emergency; a tube top that was a slightly lighter shade of red with royal purple accents covering the seams; black studded and worn skinny jeans that opened up near my feet; and heavy black boots.

All of these items had a small logo sown into them in the form of stylized M made to look like a helmet over a circle. This logo was meant to separate Jumbo Carnation’s private collection from the mass-produced X-Factory designs. There were two ways that a person got their hands on the private collection: Either purchase them for an exorbitant price through X- Corp, Xavier’s attempt at establishing a multinational police force, or knowing Jumbo Carnation personally. These clothes were meant to complement the wearer's powers and personality, according to Jumbo, but due to my “lack of style” and a heavily stressed declaration that “it would be a crime to hide you in baggy clothes” I had to deal with this attention-grabbing get-up

“If so, would you mind answering a few questions about-?”

It must have been luck that at that moment that the sorry excuse of a police line gave way and all hell broke loose.

It had all started with a gunshot from somewhere in the crowd. I hadn’t been paying attention at the time as to where specifically and by the time I could feel for the gun the situation would have escalated to the point that I would have needed to retaliate.  The bullet hit a policeman’s horse, knocking it over, and sending its rider head-first into concrete as it collapsed. It took a split second for the mob to react but when they did, they rushed towards Mutant Town like a herd of stampeding bulls, or ants if one felt particularly vindictive.

The police responded with force but were quickly being overwhelmed by the sheer number of protesters that swarmed them. The mutants, some with obvious mutations like blue skin, scales, chitinous material, or other non-human body types and others that looked completely base, scurried away with a handful of brave souls standing their ground.

Parents, most likely, that would do anything to keep their kids safe. They had probably gotten so used to the lingering threat that always hovered at the edges of District X that they would be safe in the park, that no one would dare to target children, or that it would be like any other day. They probably wanted to give their children some level of normalcy that was robbed from them for being a mutant.

But there I sat while Ben Urich acted.

He was old. There wasn’t any grace as he ripped a sign out of the hands of a man that was nearly twice his size and promptly smashed his fist across his face before the man could strike a child. His eyes were wide with fear, his teeth were clenched in fury, and, after a few swings, his knuckles were covered in human blood.

“Push comes to shove.”

I would have loved to say that I had the same fine control of my powers as Skitter had once upon a time and that injuries were few and far between but that would have been a lie. I was surrounded by metal, anywhere I focuses my powers on dragged in more than I intended which meant that when I attempted to pelt people with small chunks as a deterrent what ensued was the protesters getting peppered by a torrent of sizable alloy.  I aimed for their soft tissue and joints ensuring that they would not be able to continue to riot. I kept the soft tissue damage superficial as best as I could but in the chaos, it was difficult to keep track.

The protesters that attempted to enter the park suffered, those that didn’t were being confronted by a vengeful NYPD with their shields, batons, and guns. Ben turned to me panting, his opponent scrambling away once he noticed that he could not rely on the mob to keep him safe, he saw me collecting my things.

I had done what I could without overtly revealing myself anything else and inquisitive minds might be able to connect me to the metal. Karl handed me two more hotdogs wrapped in aluminum with a wink as I started to depart.

 **“EVERYBODY GET DOWN!”** Voice shouted over the screams.

There was a red flash of light that split the mob and a woman in with flaming red hair descended next to the source of the flash. The source was a man with a red vizor over his eyes and a handsome face. He wore a mostly black leather jacket with a large mustard yellow X covering both the front and back of said jacket. The woman followed a similar color scheme, black, grey, and yellow. Long coat with a form-fitting shirt that accentuated her curves with a thin golden X proudly portrayed in the center of her chest.

Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, and Marvel Girl, recently reintroduced to the public as Phoenix, had finally decided to intervene.

Next to them was a maelstrom of magnetic energy that took the form of a man. His uniform was a near-exact copy of Cyclops’s, but he wore a strange iron mask that hid the entirety of his face. There was something completely inhuman about the mask. It looked like a skull, yet its shape was wrong and looked more like a torture device more than it did anything else. Blue magnetic light emanated from large almond-shaped holes that served as its eyes.

The false memories made no reference to the Thing in the Iron Mask but even as I walked away, I could see the power rolling off of it in waves. Just like I could ‘feel’ the metal around me, I could feel it. It was barely contained energy being concentrated inside the helmet and growing stronger by the second.

It crouched next to the fallen horse, pressing its hand over the suffering animal’s wound, and emitted a soft glow as it made contact with the blood. While he did this his glowing eyes seemed to focus on me despite the chaos, maybe it was my apathy towards the situation or merely because I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t acknowledge him, pretending not to notice his near singular focus.

Once I reached the far boundary, away from the protesters, Emergency Services arrived in force. A fleet of seven ambulances arrived nearly simultaneously Six of them were filled to the brim machines that could be for medical aid, the seventh had a multitude of guns, six of them made their way towards the crowed… the seventh moved deeper into Mutant Town.

Everything started to click into place. The protesters had been vocally aggressive and while they would have loved to escalate to physical violence, they didn’t want to be the villains in this scenario, so they conformed to the rules and regulations of protest and put up minimal resistance when the police pushed them back. Some brought guns but they never drew them and if they were going to do so it would have been against an unlucky mutant not some on a cop on horseback.

All of this was a distraction to keep the authorities at bay while they executed their operations.

I looked back at the X-Men that had somehow pacified the crowed and were far too occupied with keeping the peace to notice the presumably fake ambulance that had slipped through.

It worked.

I could have flipped it over, shock and awe the gunmen within before they could open fire, but the risk injuries to the growing number of spectators was far too high and the ever-mounting risk of exposure made direct intervention too costly to be worth it.

There were a few options that I could take to minimize risks but most of them included allowing the ambulance to reach its target… which could have landed me in the exact same scenario as the park.

…

‘I could walk away.’ I thought to myself tiredly. I had done enough, I intervened before people could get hurt (more hurt than I left them) it hadn’t been my responsibility then and it wasn’t now... but could I live with myself if they ended up shooting kids?

I could barely sleep due to the club’s loud music; I really didn’t need conscience weighing on me.

 

With a sigh, I followed. Someone needed to play the hero.

xXx

A/N: Sorry for the super late chapter. Law School finals took up most of my time in November/December and in January we hit the ground running.

 

 

 

What do you think of Taylor’s new outfit? I tried to base it off of Scarlet Witch’s outfit from X-Men Evolution. Mostly because its so different from 616 Scarlet Witch but is still reminiscent of her.


	5. Interlude 1.a

Interlude 1.a (Wanda)

"Where are my children, Agatha!?" A red flash, a scream, and a smoldering corpse.

It was a dream.

It was a nightmare.

She had no children.

She had never given birth to twin sons.

Her husband was a machine, in more ways than one. He had been empathetic, loving and gentle once upon a time, but he was destroyed and rebuilt. Gone was the green, red, and gold and with so was everything that had made Vision human. He had been a monochrome slab of wiring that wore his face and denied his children.

No.

No.

No. No! Nononononononononono!

Impossible!

Vision, no matter how sophisticated or advanced was a machine but it happened…. Or had that too been a dream?

NO! She remembered them.

They were real and she had loved them more than life itself because they had come from the man hidden within the machine. The smell of their auburn hair, their joyful giggles as they played with Janet, who they saw as an aunt instead of a grandmother, the tricks they pulled on their nannies, and the pure unbridled joy that they brought to her in their darkest time.

And Agatha took them away from her!

"Where are my children, Agatha!?" A red flash, a scream, and a smoldering corpse.

It was a dream.

It was a nightmare.

xXx

Wanda awoke from her restless slumber with a start. Her heart was pounding in her ears and bedding was soaked in sweat. She had taken to sleeping in the nude to avoid her sleep wear sticking to her kin once that nightmare began in earnest. It was easier to pretend that nothing was wrong when wearing fresh clothes. Not that there was anyone was there to notice or that would. Stark was busy dealing with the U.N. Hank and Janet were off in Washington offering protection to the President, Clint was keeping an eye on the new recruits, Steve… well he was trying to get Falcon to return but the man wanted to patrol the city instead of saving the world, and the less said about Vision the better. Ms. Marvel, no that wasn't right Warbird, was usually training at the gym or working on recovering from her addiction to alcohol, Jack of Hearts unnerved Wanda for some reason, most likely because how utterly strange his powers were to her, the new Ant-Man, Scott Lang, was a pervert but that was expected from someone who had the audacity to steal a suit from Hank Pym, and Jennifer was too busy reading and understanding the mountain of documents that the UN had sent their way to have much of a social life. Everyone was busy doing their own thing which left the only friendly ear that she could approach to be Jarvis but as amicable as the man was his loyalty to Stark made her hesitant to make him her confidant.

Pietro was too busy running from his problems to reach out to her, though Crystal visited semi-regularly acting as though Pietro was still her husband and that the little tramp hadn't had an affair with Black Knight while Pietro sought help to deal with his deep seeded anger. Despite Wanda's irritation at her somehow still Sister-in-law, Luna was a sweet child, a bit too serious but sweet non the less, and Wanda simply adored her. The small blonde with clear blue eyes filled Wanda's loneliness with her presence and her ever-inquisitive mind but the visits were too short, in her opinion, and too much time passed between them to forge some meaningful connection.

As much as it pained Wanda to say, her niece was nearly a stranger to her.

"It is much too early to think of such things." Wanda tried to shrug away that ever looming loneliness that seemed to place the weight of the world on her shoulders. The nightmare, like all the others before it, fragmented and faded as she drew away from the land of slumber and into the waking world. Wanda was thankful for this, imagining that she would one day become too enthralled by an ideal life that she would never wish to wake up.

Wanda's room in the Avenger's Mansion was spartan save for a picture of the day that her and Pietro had turned a new leaf and joined the team as well as an aquamarine bush with purple and yellow flowers that she and Agatha, her mentor, had collected during their last excursion up the slopes of Wundagore Mountain . There were tomes on the three faces of Witchcraft, scrolls on the aspects Sorcery, and books on the theoretical principals of Magic that were neatly placed on the shelves of her numerous bookstands.

She rose from her bed, making her way to her closet on unsteady feet. Her closet door slid open with a his and there, in all its lack of glory, was her rather limited wardrobe. On one side were copies of her costume and on the other were her the outfits that served her well on the West Coast but were not appropriate for the chillier climate of the east.

In the end she decided on a sweater, a pair dark colored jeans, and comfortable shoes to walk in.

The red M shaped headdress that she usually wore was left teetering on the edge of her bed. She was about to exit 'her' room when she heard it clatter as it fell to the floor. She froze, her fingers ghosting over the doorknob, as she turned her head toward the fallen heirloom. It was still whole, but it was sticking out from under the bed. She stood there for a beat, something that felt eerily lake Chaos Magic urging her to wait, before moving to retrieve the head piece that had once belonged to her mother and her mother before her.

She knelt down to the fallen object, her hand just about ready to retrieve it when, out of the corner of her eye she saw a box under the far side of the bed. It was a rather unimpressive box mode from brown cardboard and had unhealthy amount of dust collected blanketing its lid for all intents and purposes it was an unremarkable thing that she shouldn't have noticed but she did, and it captured her interest wholeheartedly.

Placing the headdress on the satin sheets, Wanda quickly skipped towards the box and gently, as if she were too rough with it the box would disappear, placed on her bed. With a wave of her hand and a spark of magic the dust was gone, and the lid was banished to wherever banished things went. Her eyes widened as the fell upon her father's coat. Not the man who had sired her and sought to use her for his own means, though she did love him and whished that his eternal rest be a peaceful one.

This simple coat had once belonged to the man that had raised her and her brother as if they were his very own and gave them their name. Django Maximoff was a Romani puppet maker with dubious knowledge of the arcane. He had been driven to near madness at the loss of her and Pietro but had been redeemed in his death by saving her from the clutches of demonic god trapped in the depths of Wundagor. She had not seen the coat since the Avengers buried him at the foot of that accursed place and had thought the coat buried with him… but her brother or… perhaps Vision, however unlikely that was, brought it to her as keepsake.

Both of them knew that her memory of the time before being brought into the world of superheroes was foggy in the best of times but both knew that it meant the world to her. Pietro had never been overly fond of mementos and was more focused on both living up to Magneto's legacy as well as overcoming it with his own heroic exploits to care about material things.

Tears welled up in her eyes as emotion overtook her. Her arms scooped up the coat and hugged it tightly. While she lifted it a small silver locket slipped from one of the pockets and made clicking sound as it hit the walls of the box. Wanda didn't seem to notice this nor would she have cared overly much for the trinket while she drowned in the feeling of joy the coat brought to her.

finally took notice of the locket. It was round and well -polished but that wasn't what caught her eye. Inside were two pictures whose colors had long ago drained, one of her adoptive mothers, Marya Maximoff, and the other was of her and Pietro with a little girl smiling brightly between them. They were all dressed modestly, Wanda in a dress, Pietro in a button-up shirt with suspenders holding up his pants and _her sweet little knee-high_ _Tayler was in a dress that she and Marya had stitched together._

Wanda's heart nearly stopped beating as the memories came flooding back. The boy- no man- from another caravan with the strikingly brown eyes that commanded respect and awe, his cold hands that kept her flushed and warm throughout that festive night. His leaving to pursue greater things. The nine months of worry as the fruit of their union grew within her. The doubt and the worry on Django and Marya's faces as they noticed her stomach swell. Pietro's obsession with finding the "Zefiro dog" that had "defiled her grew with every day that passed until the Tayler was born and looked at him with those big green eyes of hers. With a single glance, she calmed Pietro's rage and with a giggle she had him wrapped around her finger. She became his "little Owl" and all his thought of finding her sire were forgotten.

…

She had forgotten about Tayler…

Her daughter was somewhere alone in the world probably thinking that she had been abandoned for a better life!

"What have I done?!" She wailed.

There was a terror that she had never known gripping her heart but there was sense of relief that she was not alone that kept her grounded.

"What should I do?" She asked herself. She couldn't tell the team; they would judge too harshly. It would take too long to get in contact with Pietro. Perhaps a visit to Westchester was in order but there was a chance that Tayler did not inherit her X-gene and if so the X-Men would be less than useless to her... perhaps if no other alternatives presented themselves…

An idea struck her! Wanda didn't need a man with powers of the mind… she needed a man with an inventive mind!

Wanda packed everything into the box and hid it once more beneath the bed. She put her headdress on and sprinted out the door with the speed of someone much more athletic.

xXx

Susan Storm was disturbed and for a woman who had faced what she had faced from an insectoid genocidal despot to her husband being trapped in his rivals armor and pretending to be him while romancing Susan to her daughter's first word being Doom to said Doom donning armor made from the flesh of a former lover to… this.

She had left Valeria and Franklin under the watchful eyes of their uncle Ben while she went to collect the groceries. They were supposed to have been watching the Yankees and Mets' game, again under Ben's WATCHFUL eyes, and nothing was supposed to have gone wrong in the five minutes it took her reach the lobby, collect the food, and come back up.

So, she was unpleasantly surprised to find that Ben was asleep on the couch, the children were audibly giggling but nowhere in sight, and the living room was flooded in some kind of pink foam.

She was about to call out to her 'attentive' husband when the Scarlet Witch flew in through the open balcony. Her appearance was disheveled, her eyes were red, and he make up was running, her hair which was always so pristine was a mess. The Scarlet Witch looked frantically around the room before they settled on Susan.

"I need your help!"

xXx

A/N: Here's a quick little interlude hope you enjoy this please leave a review!

Just to give you guys an idea towards Wanda's state of mind is and her meddling meddler plans are. Two points toward whoever can deduce Taylor's ' _father's'_ identity.

.


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